


careful making wishes in the dark

by Lizzen



Category: A Simple Favor (2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: “Have you ever been eaten out before?” she asks, nonchalant. Squeezing lemon peel over ice cold gin. “Like, really eaten out.”Stephanie’s mouth opens and then closes. And then opens again: “Of course I’ve beeneaten out.” And she shifts her weight from the left to the right. “What do you mean byreally?”





	careful making wishes in the dark

“Have you ever been eaten out before?” she asks, nonchalant. Squeezing lemon peel over ice cold gin. “Like, really eaten out.”

Stephanie’s mouth opens and then closes. And then opens again: “Of course I’ve been _eaten out_.” And she shifts her weight from the left to the right. “What do you mean by _really_?”

Emily’s shoulder raises and falls just the slightest amount. “I mean, you’re a beautiful woman, who wouldn’t want to spend hours between your legs?” She drops the peel, and looks at her. A searing gaze. 

“Hours,” Stephanie says, nodding her head. “Yeah, hours.” 

The man she dated before her husband ate her out for a few minutes before getting bored and clambering on top of her to-- 

She didn’t really like it anyway, so--

That was both the first and last time, and--

Stephanie raises her chin. “Have _you_ ever eaten someone out?” She swallows. “For hours?”

There’s a grin that starts in Emily’s lips and rises all the way to her eyes. A blinding sort of smile. And she hands Stephanie her glass. “Oh, sweetheart, I’d exhaust you after five minutes.”

“I wasn’t--”

A cheeky look. “I know.”

Humming to keep her cool, Stephanie takes the glass and lifts it to her lips. Lemon and juniper, and the faintest whiff of Emily’s perfume. She takes a sip and then looks up. “I’ve got incredible stamina.” She’s not quite sure where the words came from, but they’re out. A flirtation, lingering in the air. 

Emily’s eyebrows raise and she runs her tongue along her lower lip. “Ah,” she says simply before pivoting to move towards the couch with a sudden change of subject on her lips. 

*  
Stephanie is a one and done kind of girl. Get comfortable under the covers. Breathe in and out. Think of warm hands and a soft mouth. And she gets her fingers down where she’s wet and within a few minutes, there’s a sweet blossoming of simple relief. 

It’s nice. It’s customary. It’s pleasant.

It’s different after Emily.

*  
In truth, there’s a hunger in her she never knew existed. 

*  
This is what it’s like to kiss her.

She slides in like it’s no big deal, slides in like they always do this. Slides in like they’re meant to be connected this way, lips against lips. Tongue against tongue. A soothing sort of conversation without words. And Stephanie opens her mouth because it’s not shocking, it’s not a surprise, it’s just how they do things. They drink, they talk, they kiss. Stephanie opens her mouth and has the intent to swallow her whole. Has the intent to--

Emily pulls away and Stephanie is left bereft, and the ice cold water of reality crashes down on her. 

That’s what it’s like.

*  
There’s lips at her sex that night, and a rapidly moving tongue. 

It’s her fingers, of course; Stephanie is physically alone. But in her mind’s eye, she’s on that couch. Her legs splayed in different directions as Emily gets her mouth wet. Wetter by the second. 

Stephanie’s fingers keep slipping; it’s a flood. She hasn’t felt this turned on since--

Her eyes roll back and she rubs in harder, faster. God, there’s gasps in her mouth that she has to swallow. Has to keep quiet. And she thinks about tangling her fingers in those gold locks and bucking her hips against that beautiful mouth and sighing out her name in such a way that Emily would feel--

Emily would feel--

She can’t bear it; the fantasy of desire, the fantasy of Emily _wanting_ her, and the--

There’s an agony in how hard she comes. And it lingers as the walls of her sex crash against itself over and over and over. It’s an overwhelming pleasure that overcomes any sensation of shame. She’s moaning out loud before gasping, gasping for air.

When it’s done, when it’s over, she’s still breathing hard. Her heart still a beating drum. 

So often, when she’s done, when she’s finished, she leaps to her feet to wash her hands. Have a glass of cold water. Stare at herself briefly in the mirror before getting back into bed. Look at her phone a little, check her youtube counts, maybe read a chapter of a novel. 

Tonight, she lies there. Her fingers still wet, brushed against her pajamas. The air smells like sex. Breathing in and out, in and out, she just lies there until her eyes close and sleep comes. 

*  
Days, _days_ later, it’s another mouth between her legs. A talented, insanely talented mouth. Gently tasting her clit first before latching on tight. His tongue working wonders. 

He holds her there, holds her in his grip for what feels like hours. Making her buckle and writhe and lose all sense of clarity. When he fucks into her later, she’s a mess. Her mind’s a mess. 

She knows she’s in too deep, because all she can see is Emily; all she can feel is--

*  
 **aly2000: i wish my friends loved me the way you loved her**

*  
It’s a shitty motel and she’s gaining ground, and the fantasy. Oh, it changes.

Stephanie’s never fucked a woman in her life and she’s fucking Emily, _Claudia, Hope_ every night. She’s not quite sure how it’s done, but it can’t be much more complicated than fingers and mouths and lips and tongues and--

She’s got her on all fours now, that sweet skin pressed against the dirty carpet and Stephanie’s fingers are deep inside her, fucking her again and again as the woman cries out. Asking for it to stop. 

But she knows what Emily needs. This isn’t the attention she so devoutly wants; this is a grounding connection, a shock to the system, a corrective labor of love. If she’s three fingers deep, that’s not enough. It’s four when Emily begins to sob out, beg her for it. And Stephanie is all too eager to comply.

It’s still just a fantasy, and it’s Stephanie who is thrashing against motel sheets. But it’s enough knowing she’s almost there. She’s almost seen the entire picture.

*  
“Did she get inside your head?” Diana had asked. “You’ll find that you can never evict her once she’s there. She’s the worst sort of tenant. And no amount of violence can remove her.”

Stephanie, in that moment, better understood the knives.

*  
As the puzzle becomes clearer, as the woman in a white suit approaches her, Stephanie considers a potential truth: what if _I’m_ the tenant in her-- 

*  
At her grave, it’s rich with the smell of gin and truth in the air. 

After all that can possibly be said is said, Emily tilts her head to the side. “Do me a favor and lean up against the gravestone.” 

Stephanie blinks. She’s in control of the situation, she’s not-- and she finds herself with her ass against the grave. Curious, willing. 

“Spread your legs apart,” Emily says, leaning in. 

“No--” Stephanie says and it’s too late. Emily’s moved too quick. Her hand is at Stephanie’s knee and then up her dress and there are fingers against her cotton underwear. 

“I thought so,” Emily says before rubbing her fingers against the soaked cloth covering her clit, rubbing too hard as if to make her intentions more clear. 

In a place where anyone could see. 

Stephanie hums to keep her cool. How she would love to get that white suit covered in grass and dirt. But she can handle this, handle Emily like this. Her mouth opens: “You wanna fuck me, then fuck me. Don’t play around.”

“You earned this,” Emily says, snide, and her fingers push past the cotton. Slide around a little. “Do you fantasize about me? Do you ever--”

“Yes,” Stephanie says, defiant. 

That’s when Emily fucks in, two fingers wide and as deep as she can. Stephanie’s eyes roll back and it’s so awful, she can barely stand it. “More,” she breathes.

“Jesus, I should fuck you with this cane, you’re so loose for me,” Emily says, cruel. And yet, Stephanie laughs.

“You should fuck me with your mouth,” she says. “It’s the only thing good for it.”

“You think if I taste your pussy once, I’ll change my ways? Be a better person?” Emily purrs.

“I’m very open for you to try. Try it out. I won’t stop you,” Stephanie says, and then hisses as Emily’s fingers being to batter against her weakest spot, against the place where--

“I’m not here to get my suit mussed,” Emily says and then they’re quiet for a few minutes as Stephanie gets well and truly fucked. Against the grave covering Emily’s murdered sister. 

Stephanie’s lost in the moment, lost in the feeling as those skilled fingers slam into her again and again and again, and -- “--you’re a coward,” she hears herself say. “You could have had this anytime you wanted,” she says.

“Why? You’re nothing,” Emily says callously and Stephanie’s eyes lock on hers. And she sees the lie. 

That’s when Emily’s lips crash against hers and it’s different, it’s so different than before. It’s like kissing someone rudderless, clinging to a lifeline. Stephanie’s all too happy to provide that strength. Her hands, once pressed against stone, lift to cling to Emily’s face. Holding her close. She kisses her with a judicious slowness, and with a sweetness she doesn’t deserve. Emily’s hand at her sex stills and they both breathe out together as lips and teeth and tongue meet. There’s something delicious in the way she tastes and Stephanie licks into her mouth twice over before she makes herself pull away. Makes herself say: “Finish what you started.”

“Needy bitch,” Emily says but her fingers once more make purchase and the relentless barrage begins again until--

She comes, incandescent and life shifting, but she comes quietly. Nothing loud or attention seeking, just a soft cry in the air. Blinking, she gathers herself before focusing in on Emily’s half amused gaze. 

“When I make you come,” Stephanie says, a deadly whisper. “One day. You’ll never want anything but my mouth again.”

Emily looks somewhat unsteady. There’s a tremble in her limbs. And that’s when Stephanie smiles.

*  
Later, much later, he says: “You could have killed me. Together. The two of you. You could have figured out a way to get away with it, even. Why didn’t you--”

In truth, Stephanie’s thought the whole plot through more than once; the ruse, the getaway, the denouement abroad. One dead husband. Two women, two kids; four million. No questions, it would be so clean. Between the two of them, it would be a flawless.

They’d go to Florence. Bunk up in some great house along the Arno. Visit the Uffizi, climb to the top of the Duomo. Drink bright Tuscan wine, wear beautiful Italian linens and leathers. She’s read this in a book before, imagined its simplicity. Its romance. It would be a beautiful new life. Sometimes they would dance at dinnertime. Sometimes they would--

She breathes in. It’s a pretty picture; it’s a fantasy. 

“You see,” she says neatly. “The truth is this.” And she leans in and opens her mouth. “I’d eat her alive.”


End file.
